


This Girl Is Afraid of Elevators, What She Did Next Will Astound You!

by susiephalange



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fear, Female Reader, Female pronouns, Fluff and Angst, Scott McCall's Pack - Freeform, Trapped In Elevator, True Alpha Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 06:17:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11480412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Everyone has a fear. Yours just has to be elevators, and with the stairs and fire escape out of action, there's no other choice to leave Derek Hale's loft...but by elevator.





	This Girl Is Afraid of Elevators, What She Did Next Will Astound You!

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I Resorted To Fake Clickbait To Write The Title Because It's 10:20PM Here And I'm Just Wanting To Post This Already, I've Been Working On This Fic All Day And It's Killing Me. 
> 
> ~~Wow I think I know what Jaden Smith feels like when he tweets, y'all!~~. 
> 
> Okay but in other news I had to ride an elevator the other day at the shopping centre because there was a mess that hadn't been cleaned up and I remembered why I avoided elevators like they were DIY hellholes. Thus, you can thank my anxiety for this fic to come to light. Also my mother, since she gave birth to me. 
> 
>  
> 
> *waves* Hi, Mum!

It didn’t matter that you were an adult. That you were a teacher. Could drink alcohol, could drive. It didn’t matter that you were the girlfriend of Derek Hale, the well-known black sheep of Beacon Hills, and that if it came to it, he’d fight until the death for you. None of things mattered…when there were elevators involved. For as long as you could remember the sensation – a sort of jolt of your stomach falling to your knees when the metal cage dipped down, a nausea when it jerked upward – it had made you feel sick, especially when you were by yourself in the space. It didn’t help that loads of movies had scenes where the elevators broke down, often leading to the two protagonists to make out until help came, or fall to their deaths.

But over time, a near-miss accident in the mall, a prank gone wrong (“ _Screw you, Jackson, and the horse you rode in on!_ ”) your fear was completely, and utterly rational. Apparently, in the USA alone, there were an average of twenty-six deaths per year on the account of elevators. There was a Facebook page community for people like you who hated metal death traps. But be it rational or not, you had to shake it off. Or stay another night at Derek’s place.

For the last week, you’d stayed in his bed, wearing his clothes, eating his food. The pack thought it was gorgeous; almost drop-dead domestic that Derek would have you hang around and spread your scent everywhere. You had rolled your eyes, and gone and used your toothbrush (that had been hiding in a package under the sink), and prepared to shower. Not that you could _really_ hear them; you had no special stuff, powers, or any of that jazz. You were just a human. If you could hear, you’d be surprised how much snooping was going on.

As soon as the door to the bathroom was closed behind you, Scott turned to Derek, and looked up at him. “It’s been days, _________ hasn’t left your place. Doesn’t she have work?”

Derek shrugged, indifferent. “I guess. I don’t know, she hasn’t said anything.”

“Dude,” Stiles raised a single eyebrow, shaking his head slowly, “You need to ask her. For all we know, she’s been kicked out, and mooching from you.” He chuckled at that, but upon catching sight of Scott’s small shake of the head, added quickly, “I mean, ah, it’s the right thing to do.”

From the corner, Isaac piped up. “She’s been here almost six days, right?”

Scott nodded. “Yeah. Since Thursday.” The Alpha confirmed, and narrowed his eyes at the scarf-loving blonde. “Why?”

The curly-haired werewolf got up from his seat on the couch, and his fingers to count his points on. “On Thursday, we had the attack on the apartment block, remember? The stairs got smashed up, and we’re still waiting on the supplies and maintenance to come from Sacramento.” He grimly reminded them. “Your fire escape is kind of out of order, Derek…since the Oni, I think. You need to work on that. Which leaves, the elevator.”

Stiles frowned. “Yeah, what of it?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “_________ hates elevators.”

Scott swallowed. But instead of commenting on it, their werewolf-senses heard you turn the shower off, and before you’d even wrapped a towel around yourself to come out, they’d dispersed, and changed the subject to something less touchy, but dumbed down enough for any old idiot to get what they were playing at. But as you went upstairs and changed into clean clothes, you rolled your eyes, and made your way downstairs.

“Good morning,” you greet Scott and Stiles, and sparing a wave to Isaac, you pause, and remember your manners. You might be human, but your mother didn’t raise you like this. “Am I interrupting –?” you ask Derek, glancing around, but you can’t see any more pack members; no Kira, Malia, or Lydia. “I can –,”

Derek shakes his head. “Stay. I mean, if you want. You don’t have to.”

“Don’t tread softly around me,” you narrow your eyes, “I know I’ve been here a week, Derek.” You turn, and give everyone a slight glare, “I can tell that it’s what you’ve been talking about, you all went sort of quiet when I left the bathroom. I work with kids. You have werewolf senses? I have other skills.”

Scott nods his head along with your words, agreeing.

“So,” you challenge your boyfriend, standing up to your full height. “You’re kicking me out?” It does nothing on his brick-like, buff-as-heck frame, and makes you think that you’re like a puppy challenging a wolf.

Isaac shook his head. “We’re just worried for you, _________. You’ve missed work. I don’t think it’s good for your fears to get _that_ much in the way of your life.” He tells you, in his soft voice.

You shrug, indifferent. “I’ve been here since Thursday; only means three days of sick leave, Isaac. Or have you forgotten that outside the whole Werewolf McWerewolf lives you all lead, I grade your history papers?” You glance to the other boys, and add, with unknown bravado, “Please. I bet I could do it. I can leave right now, and it won’t be a problem at all.” The boys say nothing as you grab your bag from the bedroom, and wait by the door to the loft. “What?”

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing. Come on, let’s go.”

Stiles ran ahead, and pressed the button to the elevator. By the time the pack had caught up, the elevator had arrived, and hesitantly, you walked into the metal box. Scott’s eyes were wide, and muttered something about leaving his phone in the apartment. Before you could hit the _hold the elevator!_ button, you realised that there was none, and when Derek moved to hold the door, it shut anyway. Leaving you two to descend in moderately lit silence.

It was fine. At least, you thought you were; apart from the fact that you were enclosed in a really small space descending downward through a tunnel suspended by a cable. And that you were sure that there was sweat on the back of your neck, and that Derek could hear your mile-a-minute heartbeat like a techno disco beat one door down the hallway. It was fine, except one whole minute after the door closed, there was a jolt. And the elevator stopped.

“Are you okay?”

You shake your head. “I’m fine.” But, as always, you speak too soon, and there’s a jerk, and the elevator seems to slide down a way, almost like a free-fall. It’s enough to freak you out; enough to wrangle a screech from you.

“_________ –,”

“I knew this was a really, really bad idea!” you cry, backing away from him. “Der –,” you feel your breathing accelerate, nausea fills your stomach like mouldy milk. Derek placed a hand on your shoulder, but you burst, backing up into the corner of the elevator floor, your arms wrapped tight over your head. “I’m going to die. We’re going to die in an elevator.”

“It’s okay, _________. It’s just an old elevator.” He assures you.

“Oh my g –,” your eyes widen, peeking up at Derek in fear, a wash of dizziness coming over you. “We’re _definitely_ going to die in an elevator.”

While you’re focusing on not tossing up breakfast and onto the aluminium-plated ground, Derek has his phone out, and is furiously texting, his frown matching the intensity of little taps of the keyboard. You’ve heard that reception can be shoddy in closed in spaces, like trains, old underground war bunkers, submarines, elevators. You take a deep breath, and close your eyes, trying to think of something other than that you’re trapped with Derek.

“Tell me something good,” you whisper.

Slowly, Derek settles himself before you on the floor. It makes you think of a wolf approaching a puppy; Derek’s hair is getting long, his facial hair too. But those eyes, the green in them so bright, they look almost like a crystal, shining from within his soul. You watch him take your hands in his, and feel his fingers caress yours, warming your palms. As you close your eyes, he begins to speak.

“It was summertime, I think,” he starts off, his thumb drawing lazy circles over your knuckles. “You’d just graduated from UCLA, returning home. But some idiot had burst a tyre on their car on the way into town, and this fresh grad student helped the guy out.” Through your barely-closed lashes, you can see him smile a little, that rare gem of a smile that always made you feel better, “You hadn’t seen him since school, and here he was, stranded, and you managed to swap the tyre, and defiantly teach the guy a lesson about not knowing about his own car.”

“I was kind of badass,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, and adds, “But to be fair, that guy was better at other things than changing blown out tyres.”

At that, you chuckle. “Yeah. Like turning into a werewolf, and fighting baddies while I’m stuck inside a classroom teaching school kids about the Salem witch hunts.” Before you can share a smile, the elevator jerks, dipping lower, and what calmness you’d managed to amass had gone south. “Derek,” you murmur, worried.

He gathers you close to him, so your head is nestled under his chin, between his shoulders, wrapped tight within his arms. In his arms, you can hear his heartbeat; it’s steady, calm, even though you’ve been in your worst nightmare for the last ten minutes.

“Shhh,” he whispers, his hands migrating to the back of your neck, stroking your hair slowly, calmly. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

* * *

Four minutes later, the two of you came out, unscathed. Derek’s texts had gotten through which lead Scott and Isaac to parkour over the balcony, and arrange for maintenance to come to the building and fix the predicament. All it took was the afternoon spent at your place heaped in blankets, bingeing on Netflix and snuggles with Derek and pizza.

Nobody told you that while all the maintenance tango/elevator hellscape was going on, that it left – the very human, very unable to perform parkour (and survive) down several dozen stories – Stiles Stilinski, on the level of the loft. It also left Stiles alone, and very unsupervised, and to lead said young man to eat all your Doritos…and leave a mess through Derek’s DVD collection.

But that didn’t really matter.

In conclusion, really, Doritos could be bought. DVDs scattered around the living room could be cleaned up. The stairs could be fixed, the elevator regularly maintained to avoid that mishap. But the worth of your lives, was greater than all the above. Even if it meant going to counselling and therapy to work toward a neutral zone with your fear. Even if it meant that the whole pack knew about your problem. It was okay. It just meant that there was a whole pack of teen wolves and other Halloween-esque creatures looking out for you.

And for you (the human who studied history teaching who never thought they’d really amount to anything that mattered because of that ~~silly~~ fear); it was good. Better than good, in fact; it was great.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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